‘My soulmate is a hive of demons’
a prose poem, written by someone diagnosed with schizophrenia
—- a caramel karmic on the brain, like teeth stuck in a golden apple. and the shame of a bobbing head with its steady drowning. a holding of breath. the pain of a blessing, up the nose and down the throat. ‘you’re gifted, kid’ says the amalgamation of darkness lingering in the corner. and the heat of humanity finds its way between the legs. always. shuddering. there are snakes finding their way in. coiling up into and rubbing the most sensitive spots of skin. there’s a muscular contraction. a reminder of your birth. there’s an angel that goes by the name of dirt, lost in the closet of clothes that no longer fit. coming back for the light each night, again and again, and again.
About the Creator
h.a.laine
writer, telepathist, alien translator. diagnosed with schizophrenia. I write prose poetry and create digital art to describe my experiences.
Comments (1)
They say disorders are actually genius hidden from human sight. Reading your poem, it seems its true. Great work.